


the light which shines from within

by Anonymous



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Elia Martell Lives, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-04-06 04:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19055122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Elia was a Martell. If she had to die today, she'd be damned if it wasn't going to be on her feet.





	1. Chapter 1

For all the Mad King’s madness, he was at least smart enough to have never forgotten that she was Dornish.

She’d still been in bed and her husband – so preoccupied with her frailty, the veneer of the perfect, demure princess – hadn’t told her, but she still heard things – still knew that her good father, her husband’s father and daughter’s grandfather, had refused to hold her baby girl. _She smells Dornish._

Even a madman had to be right from time to time.

Elia was of Dorne and her daughter was her blood, a Targaryen by name and a Martell by spirit already. Aegon looked more his father’s son than hers, but she was here and Rhaegar was gone and their child was Dornish, too. There was fire in their blood. No matter how many people overlooked it.

Prince Rhaegar saw the frailty, the woman of poor health that had bore his children and nearly died in the process twice over, someone to be fond of and value but not love or respect as a person of her own with thoughts of her own, regard as someone that mattered or could possibly object to his will.

Sweet Arthur, Ashara’s brother, who should have known better than anyone else in this wretched city what it really meant to be Dornish, had clearly been away from their shared homeland for too long because he regarded her with a sort of distant professionalism – courteous, always courteous, but never _knowing_ – that made it painfully evident that he didn’t recognize in her the same dignity and steel encouraged in even the lowest born Dornish.

The Lannister boy to whom her mother had once wished her wed, the youngest of the Kingsguard and the only one left in King’s Landing, looked at her with concern, loyal to her for honour’s sake, protective because she seemed so small and fragile, but failing to see her as anything other than Rhaegar’s sickly wife.

Even her own dear Oberyn sometimes seemed to forget, so concerned with her health and happiness, so focused on her laughter and jokes and gentleness, so worried about the fact she was away from home in the lion’s den, that he missed the fact she was just as much a Martell as he.

But she was no Targaryen.

She was of the House Nymeros Martell. She was a Princess of Dorne and that would always be.

_Unbowed, unbent, unbroken._

If she had to die today, she’d be damned if it wasn’t going to be on her feet.

She scooped Aegon out of his crib and rushed out of the nursery.

“We’re going to go find your sister,” she said breathlessly. “Can you be quiet for me, sweetling?”

She held Aegon close to her chest and murmured sweet nonsense into his ear, all but babbling as she rushed down the hall, flinging open doors to search rooms and occasionally ducking into them to hide when a voice sounded as if it were coming from nearby, heart in her throat as she prepared to fight for her son with teeth and nails and her final breath. Perhaps the Seven had finally decided to take pity on her, because no one found them as she did. Her heart was racing too much for her to feel any gratitude.

Finally, she pushed open Rhaegar’s door, hissed her daughter’s name, and was rewarded with the sweetest sound she could ever remember hearing: “Mama!”

Rhaenys crawled out from under her father’s bed, eyes stark against her uncharacteristically pallid face and her kitten at her heels, and rushed to Elia. Elia knelt and wrapped an arm around her daughter, pulling her close, jealously clinging to the fleeting relief that flooded through her as it did, even as she knew it was a lie, knew it wouldn’t change anything that mattered. It gave her strength and that would have to be enough.

“I’m here, Rhaenys,” she says, breathing in her little girl’s scent. “We’re here.”

This was as safe a place as any, she supposed. She barred the door and retreated to the corner of the room, clutching Rhaenys’s hand and holding Aegon close, every muscle rigid, readying herself to put her son down and move in between the children and whoever was coming, relishing holding onto them for as long as she could.

They were as close in age as herself and Oberyn. The thought made her want to cry.

Rhaenys reached out with her free hand to press against Aegon’s back, next to Elia’s own hand, and Elia ached for her own brothers, out of her reach, that would have died for her and killed for her and fought their way through the seven hells and back to protect her children, but couldn’t help them now, that wouldn’t even have the chance to get to know Rhaenys and Aegon. Would her children die, never having seen her beloved Sunspear, never playing in the Water Gardens, never knowing the country she’d yearned for practically since the day she’d moved to Dragonstone? Never getting a chance to really love her family as they should?

Aegon wasn’t even two yet. He’d never met her elder brother. So little time for happy memories with his family. Elia latched on to the only one to come to mind – no Rhaegar, no Doran, just Oberyn visiting her bedside, days after Aegon’s birth, sitting next to her and bouncing Rhaenys on his knee, making them all laugh.

 _“Ah, my favourite Rhae-niece,” he grinned at Rhaenys before turning her around to face her mother and the newborn boy in her arms, reaching out to pat the infant’s head. “And_ there’s _my new Rhae-nephew!”_

_Elia tried to groan, but cut herself off with laughter she couldn’t suppress. He was just a little too far for her to bump his shoulder with her own, so instead, she extended her leg and prodded him in the thigh with her toes._

_“I’m afraid it must fall to me to be the bearer of bad news,” she told him once she’d regained her composure, even as a smile remained on her face. “You’re not funny.”_

_“Ah, you say that, but you laugh at my jokes,” Oberyn said, petting her cheek. Rhaenys, too young still to understand the joke, giggled anyway, and Oberyn’s attention fell back on her, eyes crinkling as he smiled his own smile. “And so does Rhaenys. Smart girl.”_

_Elia grumbled. “_ I’m _just smiling at Aegon.”_

She blinked away the tears springing to her eyes furiously and held her son tighter, squeezed her daughter’s hand.

“It’ll be okay,” she whispered to them, hating herself for the lie, but saying it anyway. How could it be? There was nowhere to where they could escape. She couldn’t even think of any words of comfort that would be true. All she could do was repeat, “It’ll be okay.”

She didn’t have time to come up with something better.

Aegon began to cry as someone began hammering at the door, trying to break it down, shouting something she couldn’t make out. Elia set him down on the floor and gestured for Rhaenys to hide back under the bed. She tried to smile for them. Then she stepped forward to hide them from view, squared her shoulders, and prepared for the end.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse some of the unexplained bits of this chapter that don't exactly hold up to scrutiny. I just want Elia to live, okay?!

Blood splattered the floor and his own pounded in his ears as he stared down at the corpse at his feet. The world was unnaturally quiet.

The haze that had settled over his mind didn’t clear even when the door to the hall burst open and several knights barged in and took in the sight of him and Roland Crakehall told him that the city was theirs. It didn’t clear even as he responded, barely away of what he was saying, and his mind went to Viserys and Aegon and the blood of the Mad King that ran through them both.

Aerys was dead and the castle was all but fallen and what did it _matter_ who came to claim their kingdom?

He moved to step onto the dais and froze.

Screams and laughter echoed in his mind.

Rhaella’s scream. Elia’s laugh.

The children could take after Aerys…or Rhaella. Elia.

Elia, who’d cooed over baby Tyrion and read late into the night and laughed watching Rhaenys chase after the Kingsguard when she was too tired or busy to play herself. Who held Aegon in her lap and pored over documents that no one in the family she’d married into cared enough to read.

His father wouldn’t hurt them, wouldn’t have asked anyone to hurt them, surely not, but who knew what his men would do? An hour ago, Jaime hadn’t thought he himself would kill his king.

Aegon, still a babe in arms. Little Rhaenys, playing with her kitten, following him around, blissfully unaware of what was coming.

How could he let anyone hurt them?

He didn’t have time for a breakdown. He was still Kingsguard, sworn to protect, and he had a family to save.

He shoved past the knights and broke into a run.

* * *

They weren’t in the nursery.

He rushed through the halls, searching rooms and clinging to his sword, increasingly desperate with every room they weren’t in. He climbed the stairs and kept searching. One door didn’t open.

Rhaegar’s chambers.

He hammered on the door, called for the princess to open the door. She didn’t do it. There was no time to wait.

He broke down the door, barged inside, and froze, taking in the sight, sword still raised, momentarily paralyzed.

Elia stood between him and Aegon, arms outstretched to block her son from view. Her dark eyes were wide and her shoulders were trembling, but her jaw was set. For an instant, she faltered at the sight of his familiar face, his white cloak, but she took in his sword, dripping with red, and his golden Lannister armour and erred on the side of caution, baring her teeth at him and shielding her crying child with her body and unarmed hands.

 _Hear me roar,_ he thought inanely. “Princess –”

“Did you know that lions don’t roar?” Elia said as if she could read his thoughts, almost conversationally. “Not as any kind of threat, anyway. Or so I’m told, I’ve never seen one. We have tigers in Dorne.”

Jaime took a step closer. Elia hissed at him.

“Stay back!”

He started, but then it sank in. As alike as they looked, Elia wasn’t Rhaenys. She liked him, was on friendly terms with him…but she was too old for that implicit trust. The city was being sacked, he had broken down the door with a sword in hand, and she was terrified.

He lowered his sword.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Ser Jaime said and offered the princess his free hand. “Come with me. We need to go.”

* * *

“Damn Aerys,” Elia muttered as she hurried along, arms wrapped around her son and her daughter all glued to her side. The traces of the fear she had to still be feeling had vanished entirely from her face, replaced with steely eyes blazing with an entirely unexpected fire. “Paranoid bastard’s barely eaten or drunk anything in weeks, or I would have poisoned him long before it came to this.”

Jaime barked out a sharp, startled laugh. Elia rolled her eyes.

“I don’t think _you_ could possibly have much room to be shocked,” she said, sharp gaze flicking over to his sword, then back to him, eyebrows raising. “Do you?”

His breath caught.

Poor abandoned Elia Martell, just as much a glorified captive as he himself had been, who’d just spent the better part of a year tiptoeing around Aerys to avoid setting him off at the same time as she’d been trying to rein in his madness, hadn’t seen the body. Jaime hadn’t said a word about whose blood stained his sword. No one would have directly told her anything that mattered at the best of times, much less in the depths of war. But none of that mattered, because those shrewd dark eyes of hers saw everything.

“No,” he admitted. “But maybe the Mad King wasn’t all that paranoid after all. If his own gooddaughter was plotting to…”

He trailed off at the sight of Rhaenys, uncharacteristically quiet and pale, face tilted up at him. Should they be talking about this in front of her? He almost laughed at himself for the thought – he was worried about that _now_ , when they were all but running through Maegor’s Holdfast in a mad rush to escape before any of Lannister loyalists found them?

Clearly, Elia was less concerned about the question than he because she snarked, “His own gooddaughter wouldn’t have _had_ to plot anything had he had the brains the gods gave a chicken.”

“That’s…” Jaime shook his head, almost amused. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. We have my father’s men to worry about. The city’s being torn apart.”

“Savages, the lot of you,” Elia muttered, then, as he guided her down the stairs, added, “Do we have a way out?”

“As far as I know, no one’s breached the holdfast yet. Which means we should be able to get out of the Keep. And if we can do that, we have a chance at getting past my father’s forces.”

“If I might make a suggestion…” Elia braced Aegon against her hip and removed Jaime’s white cloak with one hand, tossing it aside. Then she pushed Rhaenys away from her, towards Jaime’s left side. Jaime blinked at her, and she managed a faint smile. “I don’t think your father’s soldiers would dare question you when you’re dressed in Lannister armour, no longer wearing the cloak, and escorting prisoners as valuable as the former crown prince’s family, do you?”

Elia Martell was not normally an intimidating woman. She stood a few inches below average and the stress of the past year and a half – Aegon’s birth, the rebellion, her imprisonment – had rendered her almost gaunt. And yet then, chin tilted up and back straight, clad in red and orange silks that were utterly inappropriate for the climate, defiant in her house colours, flashing eyes looking right into his, Jaime couldn’t have dismissed her if he tried.

She hadn’t had an option but to come with him.

She hadn’t had an option but to believe her children would be better off with him than with whoever was coming.

But she trusted him enough to let him stand in between her and her daughter, and that was a choice. Her telling him to discard the only insurance she had that he’d be motivated to protect her was a choice.

Princess Elia’s face was eerily calm and the sight made a new resolve flood through Jaime. They were going to live.

“If we can get out of the city, I can get you to Sunspear,” he said. “Would your brother shelter you?”

Elia nodded, fast and certain. “Of course. Doran would…the only reason he sent Rhaegar troops at all was because I was here. If I got to Sunspear, where he could protect me, he and Oberyn would be ready to declare war on anyone that wanted to lay a finger on me or the children.”

Jaime nodded. “Good. I swear to you, Princess, I’ll get you there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Jaime is kind of a dick even at his best, but he did also give a girl her rapist’s head as a present, so if it occurred to him that Elia and her children would be in actual danger…I like to think he’d have done something about it. Especially because pre-Aerys murder, he seemed a mostly okay person.
> 
> 2\. I’m very invested in the idea that Oberyn made sure Elia had poison on hand because he didn’t trust the Targaryens. I mean, he was a master poisoner that utterly adored his sister, right? (I also have many feelings about how that’s arguably the purest love in the whole series and thoughts about Oberyn in general, but that’s for another time.)
> 
> 3\. Someone please stop me before I write a mob AU about Elia, the secret criminal mastermind/avenging angel working on behalf of all the abused women in Westeros, and Jaime, her enforcer that’s lowkey super into her.


End file.
